


November Rain

by lemone



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemone/pseuds/lemone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pickles and Charles bond after a shared loss</p><p>Originally written for the 2013 Hearts and Guts exchange, written for aboutblanc</p>
            </blockquote>





	November Rain

 

It all started with a bump.

That was it.

Just a bump. 

A teeny-tiny, itty-bitty, insignificant, worthless, shitty God damned fucking dildo douchebag bump of cocaine. 

That was it.

Snakes and Barrels, with Rikki Fucking Kixx still pretending he was the front man (which he wasn't) and their friend (he wasn't that either) and a regular human being (instead of a walking dog turd) was doing a show in Weehawken, New Jersey. And Tony, who had apparently been feeling a little under the weather, decided he needed a little pick-me-up. So what'd he do? A bump of cocaine. No big deal. Pickles had seen the guy do a bump for each finger with Sammy before a show all the time, back when they were still touring together. Sometimes he even joined in. 

Well, maybe it was more 'usually' than 'sometimes'.

And maybe sometimes it was actually Pickles's idea.

Okay, so it was pretty much always Pickles's idea. 

Except this time was different. Tony had slipped off to do it, into the closet where the dildo douchebag janitor kept his mop and shit. Maybe he didn't want to get yelled at by Rikki Kixx. Maybe he didn't want to share with the guys. Who knew? Point was, nobody knew where he had gone off to; thought that he was in the can or something. They didn't even bother to go looking for him until the show was an hour late in starting, at which point Tony had already gone cold.

They said on the news it was his ticker.

The guys were there when Pickles had found out. He remembered Nathan trying to say something when Pickles got up and left the room, but he wasn't really listening. He was too busy being pissed off. 

It was just so stupid. So fucking stupid. What kind of douchebag died from doing a lousy bump of coke? Tony didn't even like coke! The nosebleeds grossed him out, he only ever really did it to be social. How the hell could somebody be so stupid, go join a half-ass wannabe version of your own band with a sober asshole like Rikki Kixx, and then fuckin' go and DIE from doing a fucking tiny amount of a drug you didn't even like? 

It was just so... just so fucking...

How could Tony go and leave him like that?

~~~****~~~

 

Pickles spent the rest of the day alone in his room. In bed. He felt, in a vague sort of way, that he should be getting drunk right now. Truly fucking wasted. Bombed. Smashed. Make the evening news. Get a bunch of Klokateers killed. Tony would have wanted it that way, right? 

Except that Pickles couldn't even bring himself to do that. Too many memories. 

Beer? He and Tony used to stick cases of the stuff on that little bottom part of grocery carts and try to sneak it past the people who worked there because they were both too young to buy it legally, and weren't famous enough to have a stage manager to get it for them. 

Jack? He and Tony had drank enough to drown themselves in it after their first big show in Nashville.

Vodka? One time, they had a bet to see who could go the longest without drinking anything else. It had gone on for over two weeks before Pickles had caught a miserably hungover Tony with a cup of coffee. Pickles had sworn he would keep the twenty bucks he had earned from winning that bet the rest of his life. He remembered calling it his Victory Twenty. 

And then he spent it on booze a week or two later. He couldn't even remember what kind of booze he had gotten with it, now. Probably cheap shit. 

A few times he heard somebody knocking on the door, or Nathan yelling something, but Pickles ignored it. He was definitely NOT in the mood to deal with those douchebags now.

A couple hours later there was another knock. Quieter than Nathan's banging. Polite-like, almost. Pickles ignored it, same as the rest. He didn't know what douchebag that was, but he didn't want to deal with them, either. 

Pickles heard the door open, but didn't bother turning to see who it was. 

“Pickles?”

Pickles didn't move. Pickles heard the quiet tapping sound of whatever douchebag business shoes Ofdensen wore walking across the stone floor as it went from the door to the side of the bed Pickles was facing. As soon as he saw Ofdensen come into view, he flipped over to his other side. Ofdensen walked back around, and Pickles flopped back over to the direction he had been facing in the first place. Ofdensen sighed, and stayed where he was.

“I thought I might come by and see how you were doing.”

Pickles grunted. 

“The, ah, funeral is going to be Tuesday afternoon. Have you—”

“Nope.” No way. Pickles fucking hated funerals. Why couldn't people just remember dead people the way they were? Or just go get drunk? Why'd you have to go to church and listen to a bunch of Jesus crap and talk to a bunch of people who didn't give a rat's ass about the dead guy? 

“Are you, ah, sure you don't want to go and pay your respects?”

Pickles wanted to turn and glare at Ofdensen, but ended up losing motivation halfway and just sort of fell back over.

Ofdensen cleared his throat. “If you were to go, I could go with you. As a supportive business associate.”

“Except dat I don' wanna go.”

“Yes. Well...”

This time Pickles did sit up and turn to look at Charles, who was looking about as uncomfortable as Pickles had ever seen him. 

“Yer sayin' you wanna go?”

“I, ah—”

“After everythin' dat happened?”

Ofdensen cleared his throat. “Well, I, ah, didn't plan for things to turn out that way.”

Pickles snorted. “No kiddin' dere, chief?”

Ofdensen wasn't looking at him. “I would like to be able to go without people questioning—”

Pickles sighed. “Fine. Look, whatever. But you owe me fer dis one, okie?”

“That's, ah, perfectly fine.”

Pickles turned around and flopped back over. There was a pause, then Pickles heard Ofdensen's shoes again as he turned to go. He paused at the door.

“I did want to say that I'm, ah, sorry for your loss.” 

Charles shut the door behind him, leaving Pickles alone again.

~~~****~~~

The hours peeled away, or melted maybe. Like ice cubes. Snow. Something that just... went away, whether you wanted it to or not.

Pickles spent his time staring into space, numbly wishing that the funeral would never happen, somehow. Like maybe it would all turn out to be some sort of joke. The guys were big on pranks, right? Maybe that was it.

Something. Anything. 

Monday night, Pickles got the bright idea that if he got super drunk and passed out, Ofdensen wouldn't want to go with him anymore. Or maybe he'd remember that he hated Tony and figure he didn't want to go. Then he could just pretend that none of this ever happened. Like, maybe Tony was out touring with the guys or being a sober dildo or something. Maybe teaching at one of those dumb rock camps where regular jack-offs learned to pretend to be rock stars. Something. Still okay, though! And that he could give Tony a call or shoot him an email and they could still hang out anytime he wanted to. 

Anytime.

Going to that funeral would make everything way too real. 

Didn't do him any good, though. The morning of the funeral dawned just like every other one, completely ignoring how much Pickles was dreading it, how awful everything was gonna be, how it was the last time Pickles was ever gonna see his best friend.

Dead.

Stuffed full of chemicals and make-up and shit, in the box that they were gonna put him in the ground in.

To rot. Forever.

Finally, not passed out enough to really get out of it, or enough to fool Ofdensen anyway, Pickles put on his best suit and headed to Ofdensen's office. 

Ofdensen was sitting at his desk, same as always. He sort of went wide-eyed when Pickles came in.

“You, ah, plan on wearing that to the funeral, do you?”

Pickles looked down at himself. Powder blue, with a flower and bolo tie. Uh, yeah? “Dude! What else would I be wearin' dis fer?”

“You're, ah, sure you don't want to wear something else? A nice tasteful black, perhaps?”

“You sayin' what I gaht ahn ain't tasteful?”

A pause, nearly a full minute long.

“Yes.”

Pickles turned red, his face scrunched up in anger. “So what? Why the fuck do I gahtta live up to yer hoity-toity fuckin' fashion sense an' put up with da douchebag media and that damn Rikki fucking Kixx all in my face 'bout how dis is all MY fault fer naht bein' sober—”

“I, uh, doubt—”

“All so you can go and make a big honkin' deal—”

“Pickles—”

“Fuckin' strut on over dere an' gloat over yer ex-boyfriend's dead—”

“PICKLES!”

Pickles stopped cold, his breath ragged. 

Ofdensen froze for a second. He took in a deep breath, and huffed it out.” I... Mr. Kixx won't be at the funeral. And... and it was never my intention to make you uncomfortable. I only... Well, it's not a big deal. We can stay at home if you like.” 

Ofdensen looked down at his hands, seemed to collect himself, then folded them neatly in front of him. “I certainly had no intention of 'gloating', I just—” Ofdensen glanced up at him, then looked back down again. “I know that things turned out rather poorly between Antonio and myself, and—”

Ofdensen breathed in slowly, then snapped into motion, sorting papers and pressing a button on his PC. Its processor made a soft, whooshing humming noise as it came to life. Pickles could practically see him take whatever it was he was feeling (it didn't seem smug or anything, like he might have thought) squeeze it into a little box, and then shove it away where he wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. When Ofdensen spoke again, he was in his work, wearing it like armor. “It doesn't matter. It's not worth upsetting you, at any rate. I'm s—”

Pickles turned, throwing his hands up in the air. “Fine! Gahd, whatever! I'll go put on a fuckin' black suit, just gimme a minute. But you owe me big fer dis one, Ahfdensen!”

Halfway out the door, Pickles turned and went back in. “Hold ahn, how come you know dat Rikki Kixx's naht gahnna make it?”

Ofdensen side-eyed him for a beat, then went back to whatever was on his computer. “He's, ah, having some car trouble. I believe the brakes went out on his car.”

It took a second for this to sink in.

“Okie fine! Dat's actually pretty cool. But you still owe me BIG fer dis one, Ahfdensen!”

Pickles slammed the door behind him.

~~~****~~~

Half an hour later, after putting on the black suit, but leaving on the bolo tie to show Ofdensen that he wasn't the boss of him, Pickles climbed into one of the Dethlimos, where Ofdensen was already waiting, sitting perfectly still, his personal grooming and posture perfect. 

God, but that guy was creepy. What did Tony ever see in him, anyway? 

The thought laid an egg in his brain, and suddenly it was all Pickles could think about. How the hell did they even meet? Ofdensen was either the most boring dildo to ever draw breath or 'I got bodies in the crawlspace and I use my spare time to turn their skin into lampshades' off-putting, depending on how much attention you wanted to pay to the guy. And Tony was a rock star! Snakes 'n Barrels had been in their prime when that crap happened! Tony could have had any dude he wanted, or any chick for that matter, if he hadn't insisted on that whole 'gay' thing. 

Eventually, he HAD to ask. 

“So.”

Ofdensen turned to look at him. 

 

“How'd you and Tony...” Pickles made a vague gesture. “Hook up, dere, anyway?”

Ofdensen paused for a second, then looked away again. “Oh, that. Well, we met at a bar—”

Pickles tried to stand up in indignation, but hit his head on the roof for his trouble. He sat back down again, rubbing his head. “BullSHIT! Me an' Tony always went drinkin' together, he'd have NEVER gahn drinkin' without me! Yer just tryin-“

Charles cleared his throat. “Well, ah. It wasn't exactly the, ah, _type_ of bar that I suspect you'd frequent.”

A full minute passed. The Dethlimo stopped at a red light, then its engine growled as it accelerated again. It looked like they'd hit somebody, because there was a splatter of blood on the window on Pickles's side now. “...oh.”

“Yeah.” Charles cleared his throat again. “At any rate he, ah, bought me a drink and approached me. I remember being very surprised. Very starstruck. Snakes and Barrels were just starting to really be the 'it' thing, you know. We exchanged numbers, got to talking, had some more drinks...”

Pickles started to worry that Ofdensen was gonna give him the whole play-by-play. Which would be super awkward.

Instead, Ofdensen's shoulders slumped, just a little bit. Pickles wouldn't even have noticed if Ofdensen didn't always sit up straight enough to occasionally make Pickles wonder if he just kept the hanger on his suit jackets when he put them on. “I was actually quite surprised when he called me back, you know. I assumed it was just a one-time-deal. We actually had been, well, you know, for quite some time when the, ah, 'thing' happened.” 

Ofdensen lowered his head, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Pickles turned to the window and watched the world go by. Well, the bits he could still see around the blood, anyway. He'd actually known about Tony and Ofdensen a long time, before the 'thing', as Ofdensen was apparently calling it, went down. He'd see a mousy-lookin' dude leaving just as he was pulling into Tony's place, and Tony would excuse himself and go make a phone call after shows.

Pickles was never sure if the other dudes knew what that meant, too.

Also, whenever Tony was in a relationship, he would not shut up about the guy he was with, ever. Not even for three seconds. Pickles was glad that they were close enough friends that Tony could open up to him or whatever, but still. Holy shit. 

So, one day Pickles had gone over to Tony's house. He didn't call ahead or nothing, because Pickles never did that when he went over to to Tony's. He didn't even remember what he was going there for anymore, either. Had he left something there? Maybe he just wanted to hang out? Go get drunk together? Something?

Anyway, Tony opened the door, and his eyes had this beady, pissed-off look to them. He didn't even say hello, just left the door hanging open and went back towards the living room. Pickles followed in, but didn't get far before he heard the voices. Tony, yelling his nuts off, and another one he didn't know, higher-pitched, but tryin' to keep it down. 

Ugh. God, really? 'Hey Pickles, I'm having a fight with my boyfriend, or whatever guys like me call it, and I know the whole 'gay' thing freaks you out, so maybe come back later?' Was that so hard? 

Pickles sighed, and turned to go. Then he heard it.

Whap!

Pickles sighed again. Fuck, really? Dude had to be what, five foot six? And he was pretty sure that gay guys didn't get a free pass on the 'you can't hit dudes with glasses' rule, even if you were doin' it. Pickles tucked his hair under the trucker cap he was wearing, in case one of them got yanky, then went to break it up. 

 

 ** _Whomp_**.

 

Then a crash. Pickles launched himself into a run. Shit, shit, shit! That was Tony's damn coffee table, with its fuckin' glass top! Shit, how were they gonna explain this to the cops? What if that dildo was hurt, what if he pressed charges? What if—

Pickles rounded the corner into the living room. Tony's mousy little boyfriend didn't look so mousy anymore. Or even that little. 

For one heart-stopping second, Pickles was afraid he was actually gonna kill Tony. 

Ofdensen was on top, a knee on Tony's chest and a fistful of shirt holding him in place. Fuckin' blood from the damn coffee table everywhere, and Ofdensen just kept hitting him. Again. And again. No expression. Nothing. He didn't even look mad. And Tony didn't make any noise, that was what Pickles remembered being really scared of, no grunts, no fighting back. 

 

Pickles tried to grab Ofdensen, pull him off Tony, but got thrown back onto his ass for his trouble. Twice. Third try, he grabbed a handful of Ofdensen's hair and tried to yank him off, but ended up with a handful of hair. He didn't think Ofdensen even noticed. 

Finally, he got desperate, grabbed a vase off the shelf behind him, and threw it at Ofdensen's head as hard as he could, only to have it miss. By about a foot. It crashed against the far wall, and that was what snapped Ofdensen out of it. It was like cutting off the power to some kinda circuit. He stopped, just like that, fist still cocked back for another go and everything, eyes wide and shocked, like he couldn't believe what was happening, either. Then it was over, just like that. Ofdensen started trying to wake Tony back up. He kept on calling him—

“My Lords? We have arrived.”

And sure as shit, they had. The Dethlimo had stopped at some big, fancy church that Tony had never even set foot in, filled with people who didn't give two shits about him, if they had ever even met him. A Klokateer was holding the door open for them.

Pickles looked over at Ofdensen. He looked like he was ready to fuckin' bolt. It made Pickles feel a little bit better. Not much, but some.

He held a hand out to Ofdensen. “C'mon. Let's get dis over with.”

~~~****~~~

The funeral was a bit of a blur.

It started with what Pickles remembered his folks calling a 'viewing'. People lining up to take one last look, basically. He'd always figured the idea was a little morbid, and considering that he was in a fucking death metal band, that was really saying something. It was a pretty long wait. Pickles felt like he should be pissed, Tony never would've wanted people to see him this way, and half of the douchebags there just wanted to see a famous corpse and fuckin' post about it on Facebook.

Mostly he just stared at the back of Ofdensen's suit and felt empty. 

When they got to the casket, Ofdensen and him stood side by side. 

Ofdensen's voice cracked a bit. “God, it doesn't even look like Antonio anymore, does it?”

Pickles stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked down at his shoes. “Guess naht.”

Ofdensen put a hand on the small of his back, and led him away.

~~~****~~~

Pickles sat on a pew next to Ofdensen, and let the service just sort of wash over him. He kept thinking of Tony, all bloated and old and stuffed with God knew what, in that fucking box. It just... it didn't seem right. Tony wasn't like that. He was cool. No, awesome. If you wanted to go to a REAL party, now that was your guy. Made everything else look like kiddie stuff. And funny! God, Tony used to make him laugh while he was taking a drink, and it would come up his nose. Burned like a motherfucker. Happened more times than he could count.

He just couldn't believe he was never gonna see him again.

He never even got to say goodbye.

And wasn't Tony, like, only a couple years older than him? What happened? How? It didn't seem that long ago that they were just a bunch of dipshit teenagers with dumb ass dreams of getting rich and famous, playing at shithole bars for booze money. 

Except it wasn't just yesterday. It was damn near thirty years ago. And Pickles knew he wasn't far behind in the looks department, he just wasn't getting as fat because he hadn't gone sober. He was still losing dreads in the damn hot tub like there was no tomorrow. God only knew how long it was gonna be before his own ticker or whatever gave out.

And who was he kidding? The last times he'd talked to Tony had been the Snakes 'n Barrels reunion, and then at that sober douchebag concert. Before that, he didn't even know.

Some best friend he was. 

~~~****~~~

After what felt like a fuckin' eternity, the service ended and Pickles trudged behind Ofdensen, lost in his own thoughts. Some people tried to talk to him, or them, or whatever, but Ofdensen kept walking so he had the excuse to keep walking, too. 

Thank God for small favors. 

He followed Ofdensen out onto the lawn of the church, where a Klokateer stood at the Dethlimo, holding the door open for them. Pickles sighed, scratching one of the bald spots between his dreads. All he had to do was wait it out for the drive home, then Ofdensen would cut him loose, and he could go bury himself in booze and pills and coke and whatever else he could find in his stash until he forgot about all of this.

Or at least until it didn't hurt so bad.

Pickles climbed into the Dethlimo, only to see Ofdensen digging around in the mini fridge. Ofdensen looked over at him, surprised, like he had forgotten Pickles was there in the first place, then he looked down at the bottle in his hand. Then he just looked sheepish.

Pickles sat down, and the Klokateer shut the door behind them. Ofdensen reached back in for another bottle, then handed it to Pickles, who arched an eyebrow down at it. Ofdensen was already putting ice into one of the tumblers stocked next to the fridge, and pouring a pretty good amount of the booze into the glass. 

Well, whatever. He wasn't gonna fuckin' argue, that was for sure.

~~~****~~~

They hit a couple more people, and eventually Pickles gave up trying to look out the window.

“Hey, you know what?”

Ofdensen looked up from his drink.

“I still don't even know what you an' Tony were fightin' about in da first place.”

“Oh, well.” Ofdensen looked back down at his drink, and swirled the ice around a bit. “We were, ah, fighting about personal matters—”

So, sex then.

“In any case, it hardly matters anymore.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Pickles finished off his bottle and reached for another one. “Dude! You know what I always wondered? You know dat feelin'... like, yer at a public jahn, an' you gahtta take a crehp, so you sit down, but somebahdy else just gaht up, an' it's ahll warm an' stuff? Dudes like you, is dat still weird, or is it like 'hey dere sexy stranger butt'?”

“Well, ah. I've had my personal washroom for some time, so...” Ofdensen trailed off. So yes, still weird, then. Good to know!

“What if,” Pickles uncorked the bottle and took a drink. “What if you gaht, like, 'I swear dis never happens', one of dem situations, dere. Is dat still embarrasin' fer gay guys too? Or is da other guy like 'Dude! No prahblem, we've all been dere' an' den you both laugh it off?”

Ofdensen actually seemed to give this one some thought. “Well, it depends.”

“On what?” 

“How well you know each other, how old the relationship is, that type of thing.” Ofdensen cleared his throat. “Not that I've, ah, ever had that particular problem.”

Pickles held the bottle back up to his lips, grinning in spite of everything. 

Okay, that? Was cute.

~~~****~~~

“So, what? You go to deese 'bars' all da time or what?”

Ofdensen poured himself another drink. “Of course not. I never went 'all the time' and I stopped a long time ago. It's a security risk, for one. For another, I just don't have the time. And I'd rather not be on the news for soliciting sex at—” Tiny pause. “Ah, one of those places.” 

“You mean you—”

Ofdensen gave him a look that said you damn sure didn't solicit insurance at 'those places' and took another drink.

Pickles did the same.

Huh. You think you know a guy. 

~~~****~~~

“My Lords? We have arrived back at Mordhaus.”

Ofdensen had drunk a good chunk of his whiskey bottle, and Pickles was on his third bottle. Of you know, whatever. Pickles lent him a hand getting out of the Dethlimo. 

“Guess you gahtta get back to work dere, huh?”

Ofdensen looked uncertain, swayed a bit, and caught himself on the Dethlimo. 

“I...don't think I'll be good for much of anything for the rest of the evening. I ah... assume you have plans?”

Pickles shrugged. Not unless you counted jacking off, or watching Nathan eat Cool Ranch Doritos and drink chocolate milk.

Not at the same time, mind. That’d be weird for him AND Nathan.

He let Charles lead the way.

~One hour later~

“Nah dude, you gahtta tell me. No. No! Wait! Lemme guess; lemme guess. Okie. Ummmmm. Toki!”

“What? No!” Ofdensen turned from trying to put his suit jacket over the back of his office chair (it ended up on the floor), looking aghast at the very thought.

“Ahhhh c'mon! He's gaht dat long flowin' hair, dose muscles—”

Ofdensen looked at him like he might seriously be deranged. “He sleeps with a stuffed bear, and he'll occasionally come to my office at night and ask me to read him a bedtime story.”

“Oh! He does dat with you too?”

Ofdensen took another drink. “He does.” 

“So?”

“So I'd feel dirty. Very dirty.” At Pickles's look, he cleared his throat and added: “Going to jail dirty.”

“Right, right Dat's fair.” Pickles reached for his own bottle. “Okie, next guess. Skwisgaar?”

“Good Lord, no.”

Pickles stared. Ofdensen had said it so quickly, so flatly, that he'd almost swear that even asking made him sober for about two seconds. But why? “But... he's da band sex symbol! He's gaht more kids dan da rest of us put together! An' dat's just since we made him prahmise to only doodly-doo women! We hadda get Murderface to threaten him wit' a Dutch Oven to even get dat to hehppen!”

Ofdensen gestured with his drink, only sloshing it a little bit. “And that's why. When you were young, didn't your Mother ever tell you not to pick something up, because you didn't know where it had been? “

Pickles blanked. Maybe he'd heard Mom say that to Seth at one point? Maybe?

“Well, whatever. My point is, we don't have to wonder about that with Skwisgaar, we know where he's been: everywhere.”

Pickles got up from the couch they were sitting on and stared, aghast. Ofdensen looked back up at him, upset. He opened his mouth, ready to apologize for insulting Pickles's friend when Pickles pointed a finger at him. 

“Dat... dat right dere, just now... dat was a joke, wasn't it?”

“I, ah, assure you—”

“Oh my GAHD! Da guys are so naht gahnna believe dis! I didn't know you had it in you. I thought dat you didn't come with dat setting, or da 'joke' part was on back order. Oh my Gahd, we gahtta celebrate!” Pickles cast about, then ran over to the fancy office bar type thing Ofdensen had, grabbed a tumbler, then brought it over to Ofdensen. He filled the tumbler with his own bottle, then topped off Ofdensen's. 

“A toast! To the first time Charles I Forget Yer Middle Name—”

“Foster.”

“—the first time Charles Fahster Ahfdensen ever told a joke.”

“It's, ah, not actually the first time—”

“Just drink yer booze, Ahfdensen.”

Ofdensen grinned, then did as he was told.

~Twenty minutes later~

“Ah. You see, Magnus always had an...” Ofdensen paused, then pulled his tie over his head “—an odor about him that I could never get used to.”

“Alright den, what about da guy dat came after dat, Michael Handstorm?”

“No.”

“What about da one after dat, Melvin Hammelbabble?”

“No.”

“Marvin Happenstrike? Macon Hardsmack? Miko Hynninennen? M—”

“No, no, and no. Wait, you mean to tell me that you remember all of the names of the rhythm guitarists that came after Magnus, but before Toki?”

“Yeah dude, so?”

“So, we went through about one a week.”

“Yeah dude, but dey all died in really ahesome ways!” Pickles continued, undaunted. “Is one of dem da cute one?”

“No, none of them.”

“Well, dat narrows it down.” Pickles took another drink, thinking. “I know it's naht Murderface, if Magnus's BO bahthered you, no way yer gahnna get down with him. Lessee...”

~An hour later~

“Well, Antonio was always the jealous sort.” Ofdensen fumbled with his shirt buttons, trying to undo the first few. “He'd always call after one of his shows to 'see how I was doing', and that sort of thing. As it happened, there was a man whom I was attracted to, but... well. Nothing was ever going to come of it, put it that way. I never said anything, no reason to, but Antonio must have caught me looking at one point or something, and well, you know the rest. I, ah, don't deal well with my partners striking me.”

“So you had da hahts fer another guy. Was it somebahdy I know?”

Ofdensen nodded.

Pickles 'ooohed' softly. Juicy! He loved gossip. “Lemme guess! Is it da same guy da you think's haht in da band? Is it Na'tan?”

Charles laughed softly. “I didn't know Nathan then. Neither of us did, remember?”

“Ahhh c'mon! He's all tall, dark and handsome, and he's straight so afterward he'd be ahll conflicted an' havin' a sexuality crisis an' shit, so he'd leave and den you could have da bed ahll to yerself, dere. Fuckin' fart in peace, you know?”

Ofdensen doubled over in laughter, and Pickles had to reach over and catch his glass before it spilled. Ofdensen caught his hand, giving the back of Pickles's knuckles a sloppy, fleeting kiss. 

Pickles's heart didn't flutter so much as flailed around, shocked. He'd never... It was such an alien gesture. He'd never even done that sort of thing to a chick. His relationships, if you could call them that, weren't the hand-kissing kind.

Ofdensen seemed to realize where he was, what he'd done, and to who. He looked as shocked as Pickles felt, then ashamed. He turned away, but Pickles caught him by the chin, pulling him in for a kiss. 

~Another hour later~

Pickles lay on his back, slick with sweat, staring up at the ceiling of Ofdensen's bedroom, trying to catch his breath. 

“Gahd...” Pickles chest puffed up as he took one big, steadying breath. Ofdensen kissed his way up Pickles's stomach, then chest, satisfied with himself. “I think I figured out why Tony called you back!” 

Ofdensen smiled, then kissed Pickles's shoulder. “You said I owed you, so—” Another kiss on the shoulder, then Ofdensen settled down next to him.

Pickles was pretty sure he ought to have a good comeback for this one, but all he could manage was a ragged 'r-right' before Ofdensen fell asleep.

~Five hours later, just before sunrise~

Reality hit Pickles like a ton of bricks around 3:30 am or so.

Pickles stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, slid off of the bed, then crept around the room, collecting his clothes. He shut the door behind him, made himself decent in Ofdensen's office, then slunk back to his room. If Ofdensen woke up during any of this, he didn't say anything. 

He locked the door behind him, collected the first bottle he saw and the handful of pills that happened to be on top of his stash, then settled down on top of his bed. He ended up tossing them underneath and lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, still in shock. 

Holy shit, had he just done that?

Putting aside the problems (of which there were many) of him having sex with another dude, which was bad enough, he'd had sex with another dude who worked for him, that he also lived with, when he was in the world's most famous death metal band. Immediately following his best friend's funeral.

Oh! And on top of that, he did it with his best friend's ex-boyfriend, who'd ended the relationship by sending his ass to the Emergency Room. 

God, and he thought he was a shitty friend before?

At least Ofdensen had the excuse of being drunk as shit, but Pickles knew he didn't have jack. He'd only really drunk an average evening's worth of booze. Where was his excuse?

Pickles spent hours trying to come up with something. He was lonely? Well, no shit, he felt that way all the time. Everyone did. So what? 

Ofdensen came on to him? Yeah, that was more or less true, but that wouldn't have gone anywhere if he hadn't kissed him back. 

Maybe... maybe he didn't know what he was doing, because he was sad?

Yeah, right. 

Eventually, Pickles fished a bottle from underneath his bed, and let it keep him company. 

~~~****~~~

It was another couple of days before they had some kind of business meeting with Ofdensen. Pickles knew that Ofdensen wasn't the type of guy to be all 'Pickles puts out' or whatever, not that the guys would exactly high-five him for it, but still. He sat through the whole thing sweating blood.

Only to have Ofdensen look right through him. Never even said a word to him, the whole time. Not one.

God... would it have killed Ofdensen to at least pretend like he wanted them to have something together? A little? Maybe?

Pickles spent the rest of his evening in his room, ignoring the guys' calls. Which was all he seemed to do these days, anyway.

This was what he wanted though, right? For Ofdensen and him to pretend all... all that never happened? It wasn't exactly either of their proudest moments. And it wasn't like they could just sneak around in their own house. It'd never work out. Nathan wasn't as stupid as he thought he was, for one. All it'd take was one slip-up, and everything'd go to shit.

On top of that, Pickles knew Ofdensen and him well enough to know how any kind of relationship between the two of them would go. Sure, things might be good for a little while, maybe even great, but then Pickles would go on a bender and puke everywhere, or do something to screw it all up, and then Ofdensen would dump his ass. He'd lose him just like he lost Tony. Just like that.

He... he just couldn't handle that. He just couldn't.

Stupid idea. Stupid, stupid. Shouldn't have ever even thought about it.

And anyway who was he kidding? Wouldn't nobody want a burned out piece of shit like him. Not for long, anyway.

Whatever. Didn't matter. He had his booze. That was all he ever needed.

So there.

 

~End~


End file.
